


an undoubtedly hilarious and, one could even argue, helpful and necessary comedy of errors

by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29973084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse/pseuds/SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse
Summary: “But he’s going to be in our flat!" says Martin. "He’ll see my room! What if he doesn’t like it?”“Bring him to my room?” suggests Tim.“One of these days, Timothy Stoker, I am going to break our lease.”Martin is nervous before a big date with Jon. Tim tries to help. Really.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	an undoubtedly hilarious and, one could even argue, helpful and necessary comedy of errors

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my good friend afraidplushappy for putting the idea for this into my brain like a gardener planting seeds in the rich wormy soil. Also thank you to I think a reddit post? For the general scenario. 
> 
> Content warning for discussion of sex.

“I’m just really, really nervous about it,” says Martin. 

_ “No,”  _ says Tim. “Really, really nervous? You can’t be!”

“And why is that?” Martin looks up from the two shirts he’s been comparing to see Tim with a massive smile on his face. Which is almost never a good thing. 

“Because last time, you said you were really, really,  _ really  _ nervous about it! Although…” He puts a hand up to his chin as if deep in thought. “That  _ was  _ a whole five minutes ago. I suppose you’ve grown and changed as a person since then.”

“Oh my  _ god,  _ Tim!” Martin flings the shirts to the side and throws himself face-first onto his bed. “I’m  _ allowed  _ to be nervous about this. However many reallys.”

The bedsprings creak as Tim sits down beside him. “Of course you are, mate,” he says, patting Martin’s shoulder. “But it’s not really helping things, is it? And this is, what, your fifth date with Jon? I don’t think he’s going to run screaming.”

“No,” says Martin. “But…” He sighs. Despite the impression he’s probably giving Tim, he’s usually not a complete mess before dates. In fact, he’d been pretty cool on his first date with Jon, showing up with a jacket tossed over his work clothes and casually suggesting they get dinner somewhere when the servers at the coffeeshop started to glare at them two hours in. But that had been when Jon was just some guy Martin met on a dating app. Now… Now he doesn’t quite know what Jon is. He’s usually not this nervous before the fifth date, either. In lieu of explaining any of this to Tim, he says, “But he’s going to be in our  _ flat!  _ He’ll see my  _ room!  _ What if he doesn’t like it?”

“Bring him to my room?” suggests Tim.

Martin raises his head off the mattress just enough to glare at him. “One of these days, Timothy Stoker, I am going to break our lease.”

“And my  _ heart,  _ Martin K. Blackwood!” says Tim. “But seriously—” He leans over to grab Martin’s phone from the nightstand, swipes through it for a minute, and then shoves it under Martin’s nose. “Look.”

It’s a text from Jon, sent a couple minutes ago.  _ Looking forward to seeing you today!  _ The exclamation point, for some reason, brings a smile to Martin’s face.

“See?” says Tim, taking the phone back. “He  _ likes  _ you. Enough to text you about it, like, a half-hour before you’re going to see each other in person. And you like him, obviously. What am I missing?”

At the mention of the time, Martin rolls over and sits up on his bed. “I dunno. I’m just worried it’s going to be awkward, I guess. At least when we’re out in public I can point to a pigeon or something when the conversation gets slow.”

“You’ve spent four dates talking about pigeons when you run out of things to say,” says Tim. “Martin. This man loves you. But if you need an icebreaker…” He goes quiet. Also never a good thing. “Nevermind. Just be yourself, alright?”

Martin snorts. “Well, if you haven’t got any other advice from  _ Sixteen  _ magazine—”

“I know, I know.” Tim stands up. “In my room, quiet as a mouse, pretending I don’t hear the magnificent slurping sounds of you two sucking each others’ tongues down your throats.” 

_ “Yes.” _

“Got it.” Tim walks to the door, then stops and turns around. “Oh, and go with the blue shirt.”

“Why?”

“Brings out your balls.”

“Tim,” says Martin calmly, “I am going to kill you.”

“Love you too!” says Tim, and he disappears with a wink. 

… 

Tim’s right, at least, that it’s been a while since Martin’s done anything with anyone. Not so long that he’s started warming up grapefruit or anything, but long enough that maybe he can blame the tension for why he’s so overwhelmingly excited to kiss Jon. Because he  _ is  _ going to kiss Jon today. They’ve already discussed it extensively over text, mostly Jon laying out his boundaries and Martin responding with some of his own.  _ I do enjoy kissing,  _ Jon had said.  _ Deep kissing, I mean. Heavy petting. You know. But I don’t like to go beyond that. You can stroke my hair, kiss me just about anywhere you’d like, grab my arse and such— But I’d prefer it if we kept our clothes on.  _

_ Of course,  _ Martin had said. At the time, he’d been so charmed by Jon using the phrases “deep kissing” and “heavy petting” with utter sincerity that he had missed the other details of his texts. Now — and for the week since he read them — they’re all he can think about. He’s walked into walls imagining what it would feel like to run his fingers through Jon’s hair, to Tim’s great joy, and everything else— God. Where  _ wouldn’t  _ he like to kiss Jon?

Jon, who is here now, in front of him, looking slightly confused as to why Martin hasn’t let him through the doorway. 

“Oh, right!” says Martin in response to nothing. “Hello! Welcome to my flat!”

“Thank you,” says Jon. There’s a quiet little smile on his face. “It looks very nice, from what I can see of it.”

“Well, come in!” Martin says, and steps to the side. Tim is nowhere to be found, as promised, but it seems rude to ban him from the entire flat, so Martin leads Jon straight to his room. Jon in his room. He’s still not over it. Jon in his  _ bed,  _ because there’s nowhere else to sit, fuck—

“So is this room going to be roped off when they make it into a museum?” Jon asks. He sits down on the edge of the bed like it’s nothing, then tests the mattress with a bounce. “Or are they going to lay out a couple of your unfinished poems on the duvet with some pencils and a teacup, so people can look at them and pretend you’ve only just left?” 

“Oh, leave off,” says Martin, but he can feel himself blushing. He can’t quite bring himself to sit down on the bed yet, so instead he stands with his hands in his pockets, trying to look convincingly fascinated by his own possessions as he glances around his room. 

“I’m serious!” says Jon. “Well, okay, I’m not serious, but I did find that magazine you were telling me about.” He grins up at Martin through lowered eyelashes. “The one you got published in?”

“Which I did  _ not  _ tell you about.” Silently, Martin thanks god for the slowness of the publishing industry. For the last two months, all the poems he’s written have been about Jon — his hands, his eyes, laugh like honey, voice like silk, etcetera. Once he’d even pulled up his notes app in the middle of a date because the sun coming in through the cafe window had made the silver in Jon’s hair shine “like liquid lightning,” but he’d managed to convince Jon that he was just checking his texts. The published poem is some maudlin piece about his mum he wrote a year ago. Embarrassing, but less so than, say, the one with all the mixed metaphors about worship and necking. Still— “How did you find out about it?”

“I didn’t!” Jon says proudly. “I read the magazine entirely based on your recommendation. I’m beginning to have some doubts about your taste.”

“Really?” says Martin, smiling down at Jon. “I think my taste is pretty good.”

“Oh,  _ your  _ poem was excellent, of course, but—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, then.” Jon meets Martin’s eyes. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“Oh! Alright.” He wants to make a joke about being invited to sit down on his own bed, but he has a feeling that anything he says at this moment is going to come out several octaves higher than usual. Instead he sits down next to Jon, shifting at the last second so that their thighs are touching.

“Hello,” Jon says. 

“Hello,” Martin replies.

“How are you doing today?” There’s something alight in Jon’s eyes. Either he’s laughing at Martin’s nervousness, or he’s nervous himself. Maybe both. Martin sort of hopes it’s both.

“I’m doing very well,” he says. “I’d really like to kiss you.”

“Glad to hear it,” says Jon. He leans in.

The door bursts open. “I can’t  _ believe  _ this!” Tim shrieks, and Martin looks up to see him with what looks to be an entire roll of toilet paper wound around his limbs and torso. “Do our marriage vows mean  _ nothing  _ to you, Martin? In sickness and in health, Martin! For richer and for poorer! When neither of us is happy anymore but we’re still clinging to each other because we can’t admit that we’ve wasted the last five— Oh.” He steps backward, and seems to actually take in Jon and Martin’s very close proximity to each other on Martin’s bed. “Ah. Looks like you two’ve got this well in hand, then. Knew you could do it, Mart-o. Jon, I didn’t know if you could do it, but I trust Martin’s judgement, so—”

“What the hell is going on here?” Jon pushes himself away from Martin. “You’re  _ married?  _ To  _ him?” _

“Wow, alright—” says Tim.

“Of course I’m not married to him!” says Martin. “I don’t even know what he’s doing here!”

“Oh, so you’re just letting people into your flat now?” Jon practically launches himself off the bed. “I’ll just see myself out, then, if you two want to be alone.”

“Jon,  _ wait,”  _ says Martin, but Jon stalks to the door, only pausing to rip a handful of toilet paper off of Tim’s chest before leaving.

“Well,” says Tim, in the long, long silence that follows, “he wasn’t screaming.”

… 

“I’m sorry,” says Tim for what feels like the millionth but is probably the twentieth time. “I really didn’t think that was going to happen. I mean, I should have, but—”

“I know,” says Martin for what is actually the millionth time. He’s wearing holes into the floorboards with his pacing, and watching Tim contritely peel off his fucking toilet paper is not helping him calm down. “He’ll definitely believe me if I tell him it was a prank, right? He has to believe it’s a prank, you looked like that fucking fish from  _ Spongebob.” _

“I just really thought,” says Tim miserably, still piling paper onto the floor, “I could just  _ see  _ it, the two of your staring at each other panicking over your first kiss cause you’re so bloody in love and I thought if you had something to lighten the mood—”

“Telling Jon that I’m cheating on him with you is not lightening the fucking mood, Tim!”

“Technically you would have been cheating on  _ me  _ with  _ him,”  _ Tim says. “Since we’re married, and all.” He holds up his hands in self-defense at whatever expression he sees on Martin’s face. “Look, it’s been what, five minutes? He’s probably still waiting for the bus. Run to him, tell him you’re sorry, kiss him in the rain. It’ll be so romantic, you’ll both forget any of this ever happened.”

Martin sighs. “It’s not raining, Tim.”

“No, I’ll make it happen. Call in a favor with God.”

“You’d better,” says Martin. He grabs his jacket and shoes and heads for the door, still kicking himself. It would have taken all of five seconds to say, ‘This is Tim, my idiot flatmate,’ but  _ he _ can’t keep things simple, no, he has to—

He opens the front door and Jon is there. “I may have overreacted,” he says.

It’s ridiculous how much Martin wants to hug Jon, but he’s not sure if he should just yet. “Of course you didn’t,” he says.

Jon gives him a skeptical look. “So you are married.”

_ “No!”  _ Martin yells. Oh god, why is he fucking this up again? “I, I don’t, he’s not, we’re just—  _ Shit,  _ don’t  _ cry!” _

“I’m not,” says Jon, and it takes Martin another minute to realize he’s laughing.

Martin crosses his arms. “Oh, is that how it is.”

“I’m sorry,” says Jon. He wipes at his eyes with a handful of toilet paper. “It’s just— This is ridiculous, isn’t it.”

“Completely,” Martin says. “Come here.” Jon takes a step forward, still laughing, and Martin wraps his arms around him and pulls him to his chest. They’ve hugged before, but it’s been brief, and Martin’s not quite sure what to do when neither of them pulls away. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon says again. “I didn’t really— I never should’ve thought you’d cheat on me.”

“Jon, please.” Martin runs a hand through Jon’s hair just because he can. “You don’t have to apologize for this, it’s—”

“Wait,” Jon interrupts. “Just, just let me say something, while I’m still—” Martin can feel the rumble of the little sigh he makes in the back of his throat. “Feeling emotionally vulnerable.”

Martin’s hand stills. “Are you alright?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Jon shifts back a bit to look Martin in the eyes. “I really like you, Martin. And I’m, let’s say proportionately worried, I’m proportionately worried that I’m going to mess things up between us. So when, ah, when  _ he _ came in, I just thought, ‘well, that’s that, then.’ Like I’d finally figured out why this was too good to be true.” He sucks a breath in through his nose. “So. That was my dark five minutes of the soul.”

“Oh, Jon.” Martin doesn’t know what to do now that he’s already hugging Jon, so he just hugs him tighter. “I’ve been proportionately worried too.”

“Or disproportionately,” says Jon, with a smile Martin can feel against his shoulder. “Since we both seem to be quite happy with each other.” 

Martin laughs. “God, what are we going to do with ourselves?”

Jon pulls back again, but this time he’s laughing too. “I believe you said you wanted to kiss me?”

“I did,” says Martin.

There is a very tentative throat-clearing sound from behind him. “Hey!” Tim says. “Now that we’ve had a heartwarming ending to this undoubtedly hilarious and, one could even argue, helpful and necessary comedy of errors, could you two skootch over just a  _ bit  _ so I can go to Tesco’s?”

“No,” says Martin.

“That’s fair,” says Tim.

After another moment, Tim disappears back into the apartment, probably to microwave something. Jon laughs again, his breath warming Martin’s mouth. “That’s no way to treat your husband.”

“Shut up,” says Martin.

“Make me,” says Jon.

And Martin does.


End file.
